Blood, Tears and Drowning Fears
by Rhysenn
Summary: *Chapter 3 posted!* Draco/Hermione romance. Nothing is but what it seems, and Draco and Hermione learn a few things about the anomalous behaviour of feelings.
1. First Step

Blood, Tears and Drowning Fears, Chapter 1: First Step, by Rhysenn

  
A/N: Quite a few of you have asked me to try my hand at a het fic (instead of my usual slash fare *g*), and I thought I'd give it a shot.   
This is a three-part Draco/Hermione romance story. Enjoy!   
  
  
  
**Blood, Tears and Drowning Fears   
Chapter One: First Step**  
  
  
Draco lashed out blindly, and his clenched fist connected solidly with what felt like Ron's jaw; an anguished yell of pain confirmed that. Even as they wrestled on the floor, Draco managed a small grin of victory, although it quickly changed into a grimace as Ron landed a punch in his abdomen and knocked the wind out of him. Something sharp — presumably Ron's foot — was jabbing painfully into Draco's ribs, and he struggled to gain better leverage, all the while hitting Ron with all his might. He tasted the copper tang of blood on his lip, and it drew out his primal rage as he lunged forward again.  
  
All Draco could hear, other than his own and Ron's grunts, was a girl's voice screaming above the commotion, shouting, "Ron! Ron, get off! _Ron!_" Draco sucked in a deep breath, mustering all his strength to deliver another blow, when suddenly he was forcibly dragged away by a pair of hands. He struggled forward, drunk on the violent satisfaction of slugging Ron Weasley, but the arms firmly pulled him back.   
  
Gasping, still winded, Draco staggered to his feet, panting for breath. Looking up, Draco was mildly startled to find himself looking into the very grim face of Professor Snape. He let out a soft exclamation that sounded like a slurred, 'oh god'.  
  
A distance away, Ron glanced up, his heart sinking as he saw the intimidating presence of Snape striding forward, looking very angry, to say the least. Snape had Draco by the arm, and tugged him forward as he advanced upon Ron, who was supported by Harry and Hermione.   
  
Snape's black eyes glittered maliciously. "_What is going on here?_" he demanded, automatically looking to Draco for an explanation.  
  
"Weasley hit me, sir," Draco lied glibly, relishing the outraged expression on Ron's face. "He insulted me and called me a dumb git who's only good at Potions."   
  
"The most accurate statement you've ever made about _yourself_, Malfoy," Ron snarled, lurching forward in rage, although he was restrained by Harry and Hermione. "That's a lie and you know it!"  
  
Snape didn't need to know it. "Detention, Weasley," he barked, looking furious that Ron had the audacity to speak against his beloved subject. "Hospital wing, both of you."  
  
  


* * * * * * *

  
  
Draco sat on the bed, nursing his sprained wrist — Weasley really _did_ have a thick skull, he mused to himself.   
  
He was alone in the hospital wing — Ron had stormed off about ten minutes ago — and he chuckled softly to himself as he recalled Ron's extremely amusing reaction to having been slapped with detention while Draco got away scot-free. On top of that, they had the task of making their way to the hospital wing without first tearing each other to shreds en route, which they somehow managed even until they _entered _the hospital room, when Draco made a snide remark about Ron's rather unflattering limp and Ron retaliated by flinging a roll of bandages (the nearest thing he could get his hands on) at Draco. Misfortune had it that Madam Pomfrey chose that exact moment to appear, and Ron got an additional telling off for playing with medical supplies.  
  
Draco touched his finger gingerly to a healing bruise on his cheekbone and winced. That bastard packed a pretty good punch. He sighed, stretched a little and was about to get to his feet when the door cautiously opened, and Hermione Granger poked her head in.  
  
Hermione's expression immediately darkened when she saw Draco; she didn't enter the room, although she glanced quickly around and found it empty, since she didn't really take Malfoy into account as a person.   
  
Very coolly, she asked, "Has Ron left?"  
  
Draco regarded her coldly. "No, I ate him up then vomited him into the toilet, so you can find him there."  
  
Hermione's eyes narrowed. "You think you're very funny, don't you Malfoy?"  
  
"Well, I think you're very weird, so I guess that's the two of us. And I'm using the term 'weird' extremely loosely."  
  
"And I'm using the term 'big stupid git' euphemistically."  
  
Draco let out a short laugh. "You'll regret saying that someday."  
  
Hermione made a derisive noise. "That doesn't sound very menacing at all. It sounds rather pathetic, actually."  
  
"Only about as pathetic as your bandage-toting, boxing-kangaroo friend." Draco sniggered. "Weasley's sparring skills are about as poor as his family is. I've seen pandas fight better than he does."  
  
"Yes, and seeing you've got a black eye, you must be related to the pandas too," Hermione said scathingly.   
  
Draco felt his face flush, and his hand instinctively flew up to his bruised cheek. "This is not a black eye."  
  
"The mirror will tell a different story," Hermione replied, giving Draco's face a closer look — the purplish bruise stemmed from his left cheekbone, she noted, but it still could pass off as a black eye.   
  
Draco hopped to his feet and shuffled over to the mirror. He eyed his reflection critically, tilting his head to get a better look at the side of his face. He grimaced. "Looks worse than it is, that's all."  
  
"No, Malfoy, the worst part of you can't be seen in a mirror," Hermione snapped, and gave him a sharp look before she turned and closed the door behind her, missing the stricken expression that flitted briefly across Draco's face.  
  
Draco's pale grey eyes narrowed, although not in anger. He stared hard at the closed door, hearing Hermione's footsteps slowly fade away, although her stinging words still echoed in his ears. He felt an unfamiliar pang within him — the slightest twinge, much like the stirring of conscience yet tinged with an uncertain sort of feeling. Why did Granger's mere words seem to have a deeper impact on him than Weasley's blows?   
  
Draco sighed, and shook his head, then went over to the mirror to inspect his bruise again.  
  
  


* * * * * * *

  
  
Draco stirred the fizzing mixture in his cauldron idly, watching the viscous liquid simmer as it turned a pale shade of lilac. He was making an Indelible Dye Potion, which permanently coloured anything it touched once the mixture was ready. It was a simple enough potion to concoct, and (checking his watch) it was time to decide what colour he wanted to dye it.  
  
Draco grinned and wondered if he should borrow Pansy's pink-coloured scrunchie and add it to his potion, then dump the entire cauldronful on Ron Weasley's head so that he'd at least have to spend half the day looking like a marshmellow until Madam Pomfrey found a way to fix him. But Draco figured even Snape would give him detention for that, so he shelved the thought (temporarily) and scoured the classroom for a colour he liked.  
  
His first impulse was to choose black, but he decided that it was too boring — there weren't many different shades, tones or textures of black. Black was black, the same colour as the darkness, or the dizziness that overwhelmed you just before you passed out. Draco wanted a different colour, for a change.  
  
He glanced around the classroom restlessly until his eyes fell on a colour that he actually liked. Getting to his feet, he walked over to the back of the classroom, where a few students were collecting the ingredients for their potion.  
  
"Granger, give me strand of your hair."  
  
Hermione spun around, a spatula full of silvery powder in her hand, unable to hide her astonishment at finding Draco Malfoy standing behind her. "_What?_"  
  
"I said, give me a strand of your hair." Draco's voice was even.  
  
Hermione blinked; was Malfoy actually talking civilly to her, managing an entire sentence without saying 'Mudblood'... asking for a strand of her _hair?_ She goggled at him for a moment.  
  
Draco sighed impatiently. "Am I speaking Parseltongue or don't you understand English?"  
  
"Why do you want a strand of my hair?" Hermione demanded suspiciously. She wondered if he was going to try voodoo on her; then she realised she was a witch, so voodoo was like water off a duck's back, anyway.   
  
"Because I want to use it for my potion. Hurry up now, my cauldron's about to boil over."   
  
"No." said Hermione flatly.  
  
"No?" Draco gave her a narrowed look, and anger flared in his grey eyes. "_No?_ I could have just walked right by and nicked a strand off you and you wouldn't even know it. Instead I have the decency to come up and ask you for it, and you say, 'no'?"  
  
Hermione couldn't find anything to retort to that, and just looked hard at Draco, trying to decipher his hidden intentions.  
  
Draco was decidedly annoyed by Hermione's refusal. "You know what, I think I'll just yank off a handful of your hair."  
  
"Do that, and I'll rip out a handful of your brain." Hermione snapped right back, put off by Malfoy's antagonism. "Honestly, Malfoy, did you actually think I'd agree to give you a strand of my hair just because you _asked?_"  
  
Draco smiled humourlessly. "I don't usually get turned down by girls, much less those of your calibre."  
  
"Then you'd better start getting used to it," spat Hermione, her cheeks flushing with anger. "You're an arrogant, spoilt brat, and I'd slap you right now if not for the fact that my hands are full of powdered asphodel and you'll be blinded if any of it gets into your eyes. Not that it would be too bad an idea, though."  
  
With that, Hermione turned and stalked off, leaving Draco staring after her, seething.   
  
_How dare she?_ Draco fumed, storming back to his own table, where his cauldron bubbled dangerously, matching his mood at that moment. _How dare she turn me down when I even bothered to _ask_ her?  
  
_Draco threw his glance around the room, casting about for something else to use, another colour that appealed to him. But he couldn't find anything that quite matched what he was looking for, anything like the unique honeyed tone of that girl's hair, that girl who was now leaning over and whispering something in Harry Potter's ear.   
  
Finally Draco gave up and settled for black, which suited his state of mind at present. Draco picked up a scissors and was about to sneak up to Crabbe, who was sitting two seats away, to cut off the edge of his black robes when he suddenly saw Hermione walk in his direction. He paused, and watched surreptitiously from where he stood, a few feet away.  
  
Hermione strolled right past Draco's table without even looking at him, but as she passed his cauldron, she dusted something off her left hand in a quick, furtive movement. Then she walked right on, and went back to her table to tend to her own potion.   
  
Draco curiously went over and looked into his cauldron — it was starting to froth, indicating that the potion was brewing properly and that his Indelible Dye was almost ready. Draco watched the mixture carefully, waiting for the smoke to clear, and when it did, he saw that the potion had turned a beautiful shade of caramel brown — the exact colour he had wanted.  
  
As he looked up, Hermione turned and their eyes met for a second. Draco saw a rare, fleeting smile in her eyes, although her lips didn't curve upward; then the moment was gone, and she looked away.  
  
Draco let his gaze linger on her for an instant longer before turning back to his own potion, which was ready for submission. It looked perfect, the closest thing to the intangible colour of his imagination, like a whisper of a forgotten memory, and he felt satisfied, like an artist who finally found the palette of his inspiration.   
  
Draco couldn't suppress a smile. He shook his head wryly, and tried to put it out of mind, but couldn't.  
  
Things were complex enough as they were, and from the looks of it, were set to become even more complicated.   
  
  
  
~~~  
  



	2. Falling

Blood, Tears and Drowning Fears, Chapter 2: Falling, by Rhysenn

  
**Blood, Tears and Drowning Fears   
Chapter Two: Falling**  
  
  
For once, this time, it had started out truly as an accident.   
  
Harry had been mock-duelling with Ron during Transfiguration, and somehow a jet of hot sparks from his wand had gone astray, hit the ceiling and fired straight at Malfoy, which was quite a scalding shock for him and made him turn his hamster into a bright orange hat. Malfoy had retaliated with a hex, but Harry had ducked and the curse turned Neville Longbottom into a toad instead. As a result, they both got detention from McGonagall.  
  
The animosity peaked and boiled over immediately after Transfiguration.   
  
"Aching for another scar, Potter? I can give you one in the most inconceivable of places."  
  
Draco's snarl silenced the entire hallway of students as everyone turned to watch yet another showdown between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. Students hastily retreated out of harm's way, in case a mad flurry of ricocheting curses ensued, which was not a uncommon occurrence when Potter and Malfoy clashed.  
  
Hermione groaned. "Please, Harry, not here," then quickly corrected herself to, "not _again_." It didn't matter whether it was in the hallways or on the Quidditch pitch or in Potions, she hated to see Harry and Draco fighting — or Draco and Ron for that matter.  
  
Ron was clearly in the mood for another fight. "What, Malfoy, is that supposed to sound intimidating? You'd better rethink your offer, because Harry's got a new hex that'll catapult you all the way to, well, Hamsterdam." Ron sniggered derisively, and gave Malfoy a superior smile.  
  
Draco's pale cheeks heated up with a pink flush. "Looking for another detention, Weasley?"  
  
"With you? A pleasure, Malfoy." Ron answered through gritted teeth. "There's little in life more enjoyable than rubbing your face into the dirty bedpans we have to scrub."  
  
"What a sad life you have, to find delight in such puerile pleasures." Draco sneered back without missing a beat.   
  
"You _bastard._" Ron lunged forward, but Hermione's hand on his arm quickly restrained him.   
  
Harry stepped forward, looking furious, and met Malfoy's smug stare squarely. "Shut up, Malfoy."   
  
"You're asking for it, Potter." Draco raised an eyebrow, issuing a silent challenge, and slowly drew out his wand. He held it between his forefinger and his thumb, twirling it casually, although he would have it poised for hexing in less than a blink of an eye. "Come on, then. What's the matter? The audience bothering you?" (The other students scuttled back even further.)  
  
Harry smiled humourlessly. "Keep your whiskers on, Malfoy." His hand dove into his pocket, retrieving his wand. "I'll take you on anytime. You must really like the hospital wing a lot, to keep coming back for more."  
  
"A graze or two is worth it, if I get to see you all trussed up in bandages with your limbs in slings."  
  
"Don't count on it, Malfoy."   
  
"ENOUGH!" Hermione suddenly exploded, stepping in between them. Harry and Draco stopped and looked at her, both of them mildly surprised at her outburst.  
  
Hermione looked angrily at them both. "Will you two _stop?_ Your fights have sent more people to the hospital wing than the flu bug has!"  
  
Harry and Draco both goggled at her for a moment, dumbfounded.   
  
Hermione gave them a sharp look, then continued, "Now can we all just go to lunch in peace?" She glanced at Harry, who looked rather uncomfortable, and her expression softened. "Harry, come on, please just leave it." She turned to Draco, who glared mutinously at her, and stared hard at him for a moment. Her voice faltered imperceptibly as she said, "Malfoy, please, just... just get lost."  
  
Malfoy didn't move for a second, his intense gaze fixed on Hermione, his lips set in a grim line, his eyes betraying nothing but an aloof coldness. Harry eyed him carefully, his body tensed for action — if Malfoy was going to pull a fast one on them, he'd be ready for it.   
  
Finally, the sullen expression on Draco's face melted into a cold, forced smile. Without another word, he turned and strode off in the direction of the Slytherin dungeons without even a backward glance. Crabbe and Goyle, who had gone to hide behind a pillar in case Malfoy and Harry decided to set off wand fireworks again, peeled themselves away from their corner and hurried after Draco's retreating figure.  
  
Hermione heaved a sigh of relief as she watched Draco leave. Her tight grip on Harry's arm relaxed, and the tense atmosphere gradually dissipated as the crowd began to disperse. Harry looked mildly shaken, and Hermione and Ron escorted him off toward the Great Hall.   
  
Harry turned to Hermione. "Sorry about just now," he said morosely, looking slightly ashamed. "I wasn't thinking — Malfoy was being such a git, and I just lost my head."  
  
"Oh don't worry," Hermione waved off Harry's apology. She was glad enough that they didn't start duelling in the hallway. "Malfoy has that sort of effect on people." She paused and drew a breath, shaking her head. "When he's around you, he makes you so mad you just can't think straight."  
  
  


* * * * * * *

  
  
Hermione slipped off immediately after double Potions with the Slytherins, their last class of the afternoon. She followed Malfoy as he made his way back to the dungeons, and drew level with him as they passed an empty classroom. Tapping him sharply on the shoulder, she jerked her head sideways, curtly indicating for him to follow her.  
  
Draco turned, and was immensely surprised to find Hermione behind him. Curiosity got the better of his reflexive hostility, and he stepped into the deserted classroom with her.   
  
Once inside, he cocked his head to one side, eyeing her critically. "What do you want, Granger?"  
  
Hermione's expression was hard, although touched with the mildest hint of earnest. "About what happened this morning in Transfiguration — it was genuinely an accident, all right? Harry wouldn't have intentionally done that to you."  
  
Draco sneered, his tone of voice caustic. "Yes, our favourite Golden Boy — such juvenile hexes are way below him, aren't they?"  
  
"Don't be such an obstinate git, Malfoy," Hermione hissed, getting angry. "Harry never curses you unless you've done something to provoke him."  
  
"Which is almost all the time, considering his fondness for me."  
  
"The point is," Hermione continued impatiently, "what happened was an accident, so don't make a big deal out of it, all right? I'm sure Harry didn't mean to."  
  
"Yes, and when I bash his head against the wall some day soon, I'll be sure to let him know that I didn't mean to, either."  
  
"For the last time, Malfoy, it was an accident. _Let it go._"  
  
"Do you really think so, Granger?" Draco's eyes flashed with resentment. "Do you honestly expect me to believe that Potter and Weasley were just horsing around and _happened_ to shoot a spell so _accurately_ in my direction? Well, then sure, I believe you, and when the moon spirals out of orbit and smashes into the earth, I'm sure that's nothing out of the ordinary, either."  
  
"Why do you think you're always right, that you've got the whole measure of everything?" Hermione's voice was a mix of anger and frustration, and she glared at Draco. "For once, can't you just drop this know-it-all facade?"  
  
"Me, a know-it-all?" Draco quirked an eyebrow, looking rather bemused. "That's rich, coming from you."  
  
Hermione ignored him. "It's infuriating, you know that? Because nobody's perfect, least of all you, and there's nothing more irritating than someone who thinks more of himself than anyone else does."  
  
"It's called self-respect, something which people like Weasley grossly lack." Draco shot back.  
  
"It is _not_ self-respect." Hermione's eyes shimmered with a vague emotion. "I don't know whether it's because you've been _raised_ this way, thinking you need to be best at everything and afraid of nothing, like you're some demigod. Well," she drew a deep breath, her nostrils flaring, "you're not, let me tell you that."  
  
"Thank goodness I don't live off your opinion, Granger, or I'd probably go and kill myself right now."  
  
"You're impossible, Malfoy," Hermione's voice bore an implicit tone of despair. "You're stubborn and snobbish and I totally understand why half the school hates you."  
  
"Well, I'll just make do with the other half that loves me, then." Draco's eyes hardened to a deep shade of grey, and he met Hermione's gaze challengingly. "So is that all you came to tell me, how incorrigible I am? To hear me say that yes, I believe what happened with Potter was an accident, so for god's sakes will you leave me alone?"  
  
Hermione wanted to explode, but suddenly the flare of anger died away, leaving a wistful emptiness that drained her temper and left nothing but plain hopelessness. She looked hard at Draco, deep into his clear, grey eyes filled with arrogance.  
  
"No, Malfoy," she gave a mirthless, bitter smile, "I came to tell you something else, but now all I have to say is that you're just a disillusioned snob who has more ego than he does talent." Her eyes shone with a sheen of tears, and her lower lip quavered as she spoke.  
  
Draco clenched his fists as her words cut deep, and spite and bitterness washed through him, feeding his dormant rage, yet at the same time quelling it with an overwhelming sadness. He looked into Hermione's brown eyes, seeing her unshed tears, understanding the uncertainty which softened her expression, because it reflected something deep inside him that he was too afraid to acknowledge.  
  
"Yes, Granger." When Draco finally spoke, he couldn't stop the malice from bleeding into his voice. "And all the while you're standing there wondering, what the hell do I see in him?"  
  
Hermione tensed, Draco's words lancing through her like an electric jolt. Her cheeks flushed furiously, and she felt herself trembling with rage and embarrassment. Her reply choked up within her, and to her horror, instead of being disgusted, she found herself feeling mortified.   
  
"You're right," Hermione finally said, fighting to keep her voice steady although undisguised hurt glistened in her eyes. "What the hell do I see in you? You're not even vaguely human, Malfoy, because humans have feelings and you obviously lack that. Humans feel pain and fear and pity and love, but all these are below you." Hermione caught the protest on Draco's face, but surged on defiantly, "That's true, Malfoy and you know it. Can you even tell me _one_ thing you fear, or would it kill you too much just to say there's something you're actually afraid of?"  
  
Draco tilted his head contemplatively, as if momentarily lost in thought.  
  
Finally, he spoke quietly. "Drowning."  
  
Hermione stared at him for a moment, and blinked. "Drowning?" she repeated. She wasn't quite sure what she was expecting him to say, but it was more along the lines of 'Malfoys fear nothing' or 'It's none of your business, Granger.'  
  
Draco's gaze was even, although a contrite expression flickered briefly across his face. "Yes. I'm afraid of drowning." He gave her a small smile; it wasn't cynical or sneering, but resignedly sad. "So I suppose that makes me a little less than perfect, Hermione."  
  
With that, Draco turned and walked away.  
  
  


* * * * * * *

  
  
Later in the evening, Hermione made her way down to the Quidditch pitch alone, wrapping her cardigan tighter around herself as the icy wind chilled past her. She was thinking of watching Harry practice Quidditch for a bit, since Ron had gone for his detention (the one he got for his punch-up with Malfoy) and she didn't want to stay in the common room alone.  
  
She made her way to the second row of the spectator stands and sat down. Harry and the rest of the team had gone to fetch their brooms, and the Slytherins were just rounding up their practice session to give way to the Gryffindors. Hermione's eyes invariably strayed onto a lean, blond figure, silhouetted against the brilliant dusk sky.   
  
Draco wove through the frosty air on his broom, feeling the cold wind sting his face like daggerpoints. He broke into an abrupt dive, his broom shuddering slightly as an upward gust resisted his movement, although he still managed a smooth arc as he sped toward the ground and nosed up just seconds before impact.   
  
Draco shook his head in mild frustration as he raced skyward again. It was good, but not good enough.  
  
Hermione watched Draco from the stands. She conceded that Malfoy was a good flier, although nowhere as gifted as Harry. But Draco had his own unique style of flying, a more than passable mixture of flair, precision and speed. It was just his bad luck that he was constantly being compared to Harry.  
  
She watched as Draco executed a spectacular feint, pulling out of his break-neck plummet just before the ground. But Harry would have pulled out of it even later than that, keeping with the dive just a few moments longer than Draco did.   
  
That was the distinctive difference between Harry and Draco. When Harry flew, Hermione could see him relinquish his fears, his apprehensions, everything, as he immersed himself in the moment and went with pure instinct. He would streak across the skies with complete abandon, as if nothing else mattered or existed except him and his Firebolt as they blended into one, and Hermione could see that Harry let his innate senses guide him instead of his conscious mind.   
  
Draco was very different. Hermione could see the way he gripped the handle of his broom very tightly and stared intently at the ground as it rushed up toward him, feverishly calculating the distance as it closed between him and collision before he swerved away and soared skyward.  
  
She could see his tension, his uncertainty, his unwillingness even to trust himself, and that made all the difference.  
  
Draco looped back down as he saw the Gryffindor Quidditch players making their way onto the pitch — the Slytherins' practice session was over. He landed on the ground and dismounted his Nimbus, running a hand through his blond hair, which had been tousled by the fickle wind.  
  
The first person he saw was Harry Potter, with his Firebolt in hand. Potter's superior broom had always been a thorn in his side, and Draco resentfully turned away.   
  
The next person he saw was Hermione.  
  
Hermione was sitting in the stands, and Draco was mildly startled to find her looking at him, but managed to mask his surprise. Their eyes met for a fleeting moment before Draco tore his gaze away.  
  
Walking off in the opposite direction, Draco bit his lip as he secretly wondered if Hermione had been watching him fly all this while. A bitter smile twisted his lips — she probably thought he wasn't half as good a flier as the great and wonderful Harry Potter, which was true, to some extent. Even Draco grudgingly admitted to himself that he could never fly as recklessly and daringly as Potter did, no matter how hard he tried.  
  
Hermione found herself staring after Draco as he turned and walked away, raking a hand casually through his wind-tossed blond hair as he headed back to the school building. Draco was a few inches taller than Harry, and she couldn't help noticing his rather flattering physique.  
  
Then again, Hermione mused, from a distance a lot of things looked much better than they really were.   
  
But deep down inside, she had a feeling Draco wasn't one of them.   
  
  


* * * * * * *

  
  
There weren't many classes the next day, and the late afternoon found most of the Gryffindors lazing around in the common room, waiting for dinner. The sun was already sinking in the horizon, doing even less to dispel the cold that pervaded the wintry season.  
  
"Where's my Potions handbook?" Hermione asked, poking Ron on the shoulder.  
  
"Hmm?" Ron replied distractedly, his eyes fixated on the chess board on the table. The two boys were playing chess, and from the looks of it, Harry was steadily getting better at the game. Ron chewed thoughtfully on his nails, something he almost never did, wondering how to get around Harry's knight, barely listening to Hermione. "Oh, Harry has it."  
  
Hermione looked to Harry impatiently. Harry was gazing intently at the chess board as well, the possibility of an imminent victory holding his entire attention — Hermione noticed he was wearing that same purposeful expression he always did whenever he was racing after the Snitch.   
  
"Um, it's up in our dorm, on my bedside table," Harry answered absently, not taking his eyes off the chess board.   
  
Hermione made an irritated noise — she thought only Quidditch could make boys completely oblivious to everything else. Casting a parting glance at the game (and privately thinking that Harry had a good chance at winning this time), Hermione headed off in the direction of the boys' staircase and ascended it.  
  
She actually liked the boys' dorm better than the girls' — there was a distinctly boy kind of scent in the air, musky and strangely refreshing, especially in contrast with the girls' dorm, which was constantly filled with a melange of Parvati and Lavender's latest perfumes, often combining to a rather unsavoury effect.  
  
Hermione walked over to Harry's bed and sat on it, finding her Potions handbook balanced precariously near the edge of the bedside table. She also noticed that Harry's miniature dragon, the small Hungarian Horntail — souvenir of his memorable Triwizard Cup experience — was sitting on top of the Potions book.   
  
The little dragon was lying flat on its stomach in a rather leisurely fashion, its head propped on its two front clawed feet. It was entertaining itself by blowing grey smoke rings into the air. It eyed her suspiciously for a moment, then turned away with a rather disinterested look and yawned, stretching its tiny legs and fluttering its disproportionately small wings as it settled down for a snooze. It really did look quite adorable.  
  
Hermione smiled. She never imagined she'd ever like a dragon.  
  
"Oh, no you don't," Hermione chided, gently prodding the dragon with her forefinger — strangely, she wasn't afraid that it might bite her, even though she knew its fangs, however minuscule, would still hurt like hell. "Mind going to sleep somewhere else? I need this book." _Like dragons understand English,_ she thought to herself.  
  
Apparently, dragons understood a lot more than Hermione thought they did. The little Horntail cast her a rather miffed look before getting to its feet and hopping off the book, opting to catch a few winks nestled in Harry's gloves instead.   
  
Intrigued, Hermione sat watching it; it seemed to sense her presence after a few minutes, and opened its narrow eyes sleepily. It waved its spiked tail at her in a mild, rather friendly gesture, then went back to sleep.  
  
Hermione grinned in spite of herself as she got to her feet and walked over to the window, which overlooked the vast lake below. Maybe Hagrid was right, after all.  
  
Dragons were really quite special creatures, once you got to know them better.  
  
  


* * * * * * *

  
  
Draco stood before the lake, watching as the faltering sunlight danced across the shimmering surface, glinting like silver diamonds sprinkled randomly across the vast black waters. He watched the progression of colours as they sped across the water, first golden from the sunlight, then silver as it kissed the black lake, then bronze as it lost its lustre and finally dissolved into the restless darkness.  
  
His favourite colour had always been black. It was the colour of your mind when you were too exhausted to think, the colour of the night when you were too tired to sleep, the colour of your soul when it was beyond redemption.   
  
The lake beckoned him languidly, its waters stretching all the way to the far shore, like liquid black satin woven with threads of silver that glittered and faded in the dying sunlight. It was a beautiful sight, sad and melancholic, sinister in a seductive way.  
  
Draco kicked off his shoes, leaving them lying on the grassy bank. He walked to the edge of the lake where the water lapped harmlessly, concealing the real depth in a mirage of shallow innocence. But Draco knew how deep it was, how it probably reached all the way to the other side of the world and emerged as a fountain of black water, a source of life in a sweltering desert.  
  
He toed the water; it was freezing cold to the touch, searing his nerves, and he instinctively wanted to withdraw his foot, but he didn't. He kept it immersed in the icy water until his foot became numbed, reflecting the same unfeeling detachment in his mind.  
  
Then he took a step forward, closed his eyes and plunged into the cold, black, fathomless water.   
  
  
  
~~~  
  



	3. Love Floats

Blood, Tears and Drowning Fears, Chapter 3: Love Floats, by Rhysenn

  
A/N: Okay, here's the final chapter of this three-part Draco/Hermione romance I started eons ago. (Ahh! Rhysenn wrote het!) Sorry it took so long. Thanks to Minx and Heidi for the beta. If ever I feel like writing D/Hr again I do have a sequel to this in mind — but right now my other WiP slash fics take priority, amidst Howlers of 'Where the hell is IP8? Write IP! And WF3! Go!'  
  
This chapter might make more sense if you read the first two parts beforehand, since this chapter carries off from the cliff-hanger in Chapter 2.   
  
  
  
**Blood, Tears and Drowning Fears   
Chapter Three: Love Floats**  
  
  
Hermione's hands flew up to cover her mouth as she saw the slim blond figure plunge into the dark lake, disappearing beneath the surface with a silent splash as a concentric pool of ripples marked the spot where he had jumped. She stared, her blood freezing in her veins, too shocked to move a muscle as the turbulence calmed and the black water closed over any sign of human life. The whole scene was so peaceful, so ethereal, like a waking nightmare...  
  
"Oh god," she whispered, horrified.   
  
She turned and raced out of the dorm, hurtling down the stairs and into the common room. Her face was pale and bloodless, and she ignored everyone, even Harry and Ron, as she clambered out through the portrait hole and dashed down the corridors leading out of Hogwarts castle.  
  
The sharp cold wind sliced past her as she ran, an eerie, unintelligible echoing in her ears. Her eyes stung as she strained to see the lake, to make out even the slightest vestige of survival, the outline of a head breaking the seamless black surface, _anything_ at all which said that Draco wasn't dead. Her heart was beating so furiously that she thought her ribs were going to burst — her legs ached from running across the uneven grass, but she didn't slow down; she couldn't remember ever running so desperately in her life. She felt so scared and helpless, very much like the way she felt in her first year when she saw Harry walk through the black flames into the unknown, or when she watched him take on the dragon during the Triwizard Tournament.  
  
_Please,_ she prayed fervently. _Please, don't let him have drowned.   
  
_She reached the edge of the lake, panting deliriously, gasping for breath as she looked frantically around. Her heart sank as she saw nothing but the restless waves shimmering in the brilliant winter sunlight, and the glare hurt her eyes as she squinted hard to look for Draco — but she couldn't see him, she was too late...  
  
Her foot snagged something on the ground; looking down, Hermione saw that it was one of Draco's shoes, which had been tossed on the grassy bank. Tendrils of fear and despair gripped her as she sank to her knees, feeling the hot sting of tears in her eyes, suddenly regretting all the things she had said and failed to say, wondering how, how in the world this could have happened, that Draco was—  
  
"What are you doing, Granger?" came a familiar voice, sounding distant, as if speaking in a dream.   
  
Hermione's head snapped up, her vision blurred by tears. She quickly wiped them away with the back of her hand, instinctively looking in the vague direction of the voice, and her eyes widened in utter amazement.  
  
"_Draco?_"  
  
Draco was sitting on a rock outcropping about twenty feet out in the lake, almost completely obscured by hanging vines, which grew magically throughout the year and framed the rocky ledge with drapes of moss-green. Draco was leaning casually against the boulder with his legs dangling over the ledge, his ankles in the water. His blond hair was wet, and it glistened golden as the sunlight fell obliquely across his delicate features, tingeing his pale complexion with a healthy glow. He was wearing a thin white shirt that clung tightly to him, almost translucent against his body.  
  
Draco was eyeing Hermione incredulously. "What are you doing?" he repeated, looking genuinely perplexed by her strange behaviour.  
  
"You're—You're _alive_?" Hermione sputtered, staring at him in disbelief as she rose.   
  
"Most unfortunately, yes." Draco looked miffed. "Why shouldn't I be?"  
  
Abruptly, the relief that flooded through her quickly changed to anger, and Hermione strode forward, getting her feet wet as the water lapped at her toes. Her face was flushed with fading anxiety and dawning outrage.  
  
"What do you think you're _doing_, Malfoy?" Hermione shouted indignantly. "Are you _insane?_"  
  
Draco looked nonplussed. "What? What are you talking about?"  
  
"This! Jumping into the lake! Are you trying to kill yourself?" Hermione stamped her foot, glaring at Draco. She felt the tears welling up again as her unstable emotions raged. "You scared the hell out of me, you idiot! I thought you drowned!"   
  
Draco stared at her, uncomprehending for a moment, before realisation slowly dawned across his face.  
  
"You thought I _drowned?_" he asked quietly, looking pensively at her.  
  
Hermione suddenly felt exhausted, physically and mentally. She slowly sat down at edge of the lake, blinking away the tears, not wanting to wipe her eyes with Draco watching her. A lone tear escaped and trickled down her cheek, leaving a trail of wetness down the side of her face, which shone like a thread of pearl in the sunlight.  
  
"Yes," she said tiredly, too weary to keep up facades or pretences anymore. "I saw you from the window in Gryffindor Tower — I saw you jumping into the lake and I panicked and I thought you were going to drown, that's what you said you were afraid of, didn't you?"  
  
Draco's expression was inscrutable. "I said I was scared of drowning, I never said I couldn't swim."  
  
Hermione groaned and slapped her forehead. "Why is it always like this with you, Malfoy?" she snapped angrily, glaring up at him. At that very moment, she couldn't think of anyone she hated more. "Always trying to be so witty, so cryptic, so _manipulative..._"  
  
"Hey!" Draco interrupted crossly. "I wasn't being manipulative. You jumped to conclusions yourself! You asked me what I was afraid of, I said drowning. I never said I couldn't swim, that was _your_ assumption."  
  
"A perfectly valid inference!" Hermione retorted, very annoyed. "What other reason would someone be scared of drowning than because he couldn't swim very well?"  
  
"You think accidents can't happen? You think there haven't been instances of experienced swimmers drowning?"  
  
Hermione fell quiet; she grudgingly conceded that Draco had a point. She suddenly realised that she was feeling cold; she drew her knees up to her chest and rested her head in her arms, closing her eyes. The anger and hatred within her suddenly drained away, leaving the relief that still lingered because Draco was alive, he was all right, her prayer had been answered and he hadn't drowned.  
  
There was a soft splash of water, and Hermione looked up to see that Draco had hopped off the rock ledge and into the water. She imagined that it was freezing, but Draco wasn't shivering as he treaded water in the lake, taking a few moments to acclimatise himself to the temperature. Then he swam back to the grassy bank, towards her, and Hermione saw that he was an excellent swimmer, his arms flexing in firm strokes as he gracefully propelled his body forward and reached the edge in a matter of seconds.  
  
He came out of the water and sat next to Hermione, but said nothing. Hermione stole a sidelong glance at him, noticing that he looked rather attractive with the wet look, his blond hair hanging damply by the side of his face, his cheeks slightly flushed with exertion, the contours of his body outlined by his wet shirt that clung to him. She wondered if he was cold, being wet and exposed to the wind at the same time.  
  
The silence settled between them, but it was a calm sort of quietness, not hostile or awkward. They both just sat along the water's edge, their toes dipping into the lake, feeling the feeble warmth of the setting sun on their faces. Hermione secretly thought she'd have balked if anyone ever said before that watching the sunset with Draco Malfoy was romantic, but here with him now, she discovered that it wasn't an entirely unpleasant experience.  
  
And she was glad he was alive. Truly.  
  
Draco finally spoke quietly. "Are you still mad at me for scaring you, Hermione?"  
  
Hermione glanced at Draco; this was only the second time he'd ever called her by her first name. He wasn't looking at her, but had his face tilted to the sun, his eyes closed.  
  
She sighed. "You just gave me a horrid fright, that's all."   
  
"I didn't mean to. I'm sorry."  
  
Hermione turned and stared at Draco, incredulous. _Sorry?_ She thought in wonderment. _Draco Malfoy, saying sorry?  
  
_"Don't stare at me like that." Draco opened his eyes and met her gaze; his tone was not reproachful. "I'm perfectly capable of saying the S-word, although I only reserve it for special occasions. Nearly giving you a heart attack because I went swimming, as absurd as that may sound, qualifies as such."  
  
Hermione actually smiled. Draco didn't have a bad sense of humour.  
  
Draco took a deep breath, and continued, "I may be scared of drowning, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to swim." He looked into her eyes, and his expression was sincere and truthful. "In life, you've got to take chances sometimes."  
  
Then he leaned over and kissed her.   
  
Hermione blinked, startled; her mind went completely blank, and all she knew was Draco's lips on hers, kissing her firmly yet gently, with a tenderness she never thought possible from him. Her first impulse to shove him away instantly dissolved, as rational thinking swiftly melted and gave way to long-denied feelings. The coolness of his mouth quickly warmed as she leaned into his kiss, closing her eyes, her right hand reaching up to touch his cheek as she kissed him back. Hermione was only vaguely aware of Draco's arms going around her shoulders, pulling her close, one hand holding the back of her head as he kissed her thoroughly.  
  
After an eternal moment, Draco finally pulled back. Hermione opened her eyes, feeling breathless, and stared into his pale grey eyes just inches away from hers, not knowing how to react. Her lips still burned from his touch, and she cast about for something to say, something intelligible, but nothing came to mind.  
  
Draco bit his lower lip slightly, waiting in anticipation for Hermione to say something, wondering if she was going to slap him or kiss him again; from the torn expression on her face, either outcome was equally likely.   
  
"Hermione...?" he started tentatively, watching her reaction closely.  
  
"What?" Hermione felt rather light-headed at the moment.   
  
"Aren't you going to say something?"  
  
_How about 'you're a damn good kisser'?_ Hermione was still dazed, her thoughts swimming incoherently; she wondered what possessed her to let Draco Malfoy kiss her like that, and why she was even evaluating his kissing skills right now. _Or, 'what the hell did you think you were doing'?_ But that sounded so lame — it was pretty obvious what he was doing, even though he probably wasn't thinking, and neither was she.  
  
"Well... not really," she finally confessed, with a self-conscious smile.  
  
Draco quirked an eyebrow, mildly amused. "Not really? Hermione Granger, who has an opinion on anything and everything, is tongue-tied on_ this?_"  
  
Hermione blushed, then retorted, "I'll send you a five-page essay about it afterward."  
  
"How about just another shot and we'll call it even?"  
  
"Malfoy..." Hermione started warningly, giving him a pointed look.  
  
Draco looked slightly disappointed. "Oh well, it was worth a try."  
  
Hermione didn't like the offhandedness in his tone. She narrowed her eyes. "What, is this all just some game to you, Malfoy?"  
  
Draco looked affronted. "No, it isn't."  
  
"What is it then?" Hermione eyed him with a measure of distrust, and the question spilled from her lips. "Why me?"  
  
Draco offered a sly grin, and his eyes danced with laughter. "Because I don't know many girls who would rush all the way from Gryffindor Tower to the lake just to see me swim."  
  
"Very funny, Draco." Hermione couldn't suppress a smile. "But seriously..."  
  
"All right, seriously." Draco's expression sobered. "How about because you're the most truthful girl I've ever met, and I value that quality in people. And because you bothered to remember what I told you, and actually came all the way down here to make sure I was all right. That's why."  
  
Hermione felt almost as breathless as she had when Draco kissed her. She stared at him, almost unable to believe that he had actually said those words, something she'd have thought inconceivable just moments ago. A random thought occurred to her at that moment, and she thought of Ron's brother, Charlie Weasley. She'd never comprehended why he loved to work with dragons when there was so much danger tied up with the job, but now she understood, on a certain level. Wild, free spirits were among the most beautiful things to tread the earth, and taming the untamed brought a satisfaction like no other.  
  
Draco's voice interrupted her musings. "Did you hear what I just said?"  
  
Hermione snapped out of her thoughtful reverie. "Yes, of course I did." She smiled, a sincere, heartfelt smile that shone from within.  
  
Draco smiled back, and Hermione realised that she'd never seen him smile that way before, without a hint of spite or malice twisting his lips. She got to her feet, dusting the grass off her skirt. Draco looked up at her, his pale grey eyes warmed by the sepia hue of the sky, reflecting traces of a smile that melted away his usual coldness.   
  
"I have to go," Hermione said, looking at her watch. "Harry and Ron'll be wondering where I went."   
  
"All right," Draco nodded, with a wry smile. "You'd better, before Potter comes along and sees me with you and hexes me. I don't have my wand, so a duel wouldn't favour me too much right now."  
  
"Well, I'll see you." Hermione didn't know when, but she knew that she would. With a lingering backward glance, she turned away and started walking, her legs feeling slightly unsteady, and that wasn't entirely because they ached from running.  
  
But it felt strange, and wrong, just walking away like that, ending things so abruptly when it was obvious that both of them hadn't quite said what they wanted to. She turned back, and saw Draco leaning against the trunk of a tree, watching her, an unreadable expression on his face.  
  
She walked back to where Draco was standing — he looked surprised as she came near, although the warmth in his eyes was unmistakable. Hermione stepped close to him, tiptoed a little and kissed him lightly on the cheek, putting everything she wanted to say as succinctly as she could into that one gentle gesture. Then she smiled again, said a soft goodbye, and headed for Gryffindor Tower.  
  
It still didn't feel altogether right, but at least it felt more complete.   
  
Draco watched her until she turned a bend and disappeared from view. He stood where he was for a few moments more before walking over to stand at the edge of the lake again. The sun had almost fully set, and the presence of night gradually fell across the sky. The lake looked different, now even darker still, a sheet of black velvet stretching to the opposite shore.  
  
But different wasn't necessarily bad.   
  
Draco ran a hand through his hair, pushing his fringe out of his eyes.   
  
Maybe they weren't that different at all. He hadn't changed since an hour ago, and neither had Hermione, but something between them had altered, and that made all the difference.   
  
The night and the day, the dark and the light, and everything else in between.   
  
There were always spaces in between, in the uncertain half-light after the sun had faded and the moon had yet to rise, vague transitions where it wasn't quite clear if it was dusk or dawn, where the similarities weren't quite distinguishable from the differences.  
  
And shaking his head, Draco just smiled, then turned his back to the lake and walked away.   
  
  
~fin.~  
  
  
So, thus concludes Rhysenn's dismal first venture into the world of het-fic! Do drop a line in review and tell me what you think. Thanks to everyone who reviewed the past 2 chapters — this is my first shot at writing a het story, so the encouragement was wonderful to receive :)  
  
---   
  



End file.
